Silken
by SelkiePolo
Summary: A snippet of an escape.
1. Chapter 1

The water laps around my ankles, cool and familiar. My wife sits on the shore beside a pile of my discarded clothes, the cloth limp and lifeless now. My step falters but then I move. Sand and pebbles rub at the soles of my hardened feet as I look back at her once more. My love, my life. My jail keeper.

"I don't think this is going to work," I say. Reassurance for her, though I know it to be a lie. I can already feel my blood running faster as it prepares for the transformation.

On the shore, she smiles. I can't read it. I never could.

With a grimace I turn my face to the horizon. A cool breeze slips off the ocean, ruffling my hair around my shoulders. I will miss that sensation. The water hits my knees, then my thighs, then my hips. I could drop down and be done with it but I'm not far enough. If I change too soon, she can follow me. She will catch me.

"Don't go any further," she calls. Her voice is faint enough against the rush of the breeze that I can pretend I didn't hear it.

Walking with legs through the water is strange and uncomfortable. The water pushes back, refusing me. I wonder if this ocean will ever embrace me again or whether my skin will never heal. I'll be walking the shore for the rest of my life, hand in hand with the woman who destroyed my chances at freedom. It almost seems a comforting idea.

And then my knees buckle and slam together. I hear her cry out on the shore, hear the splash of her feet against the gentle waves, and I launch myself forward in one smooth motion.

My tail is half-formed and ugly as I push myself through the waves. I squirm against the pain as my spine bends and shifts, as my hips relocate, as my arms turn to flippers. My muscles grow strong, sleek, buried beneath a thick layer of warm fat. My skin turns grey and a pale fur sprouts from it, thicker than the human fuzz. The silken hair on my human head disappears and my snout stretches forward. I gulp a huge lungful of air and dive just as her fingers touch my cool skin.

Her scream is muffled beneath the waves. I don't look back.


	2. Chapter 2

One morning, I sat up in the pale dawn light and saw my prison.

The crisp air shivered across my bare skin but instead of pulling the blankets up over me, I stood. My wife rolled over but her eyes were still shut, so I could easily walk downstairs. There was a time when steps were an enemy to me, but now I know how to hold my balance on two legs and how to press my weight just right to avoid the creaking noise on the third from the bottom. Still, I glance back at the final step, expecting her bright eyes to be on me.

They are not, so I walk to the kitchen and pull up the blinds. It is not the view I was promised, all those years ago. There is no seaside view, just a row of terraced houses, grey and pale green. On the slanted roof of the identical house across the street, a strange yellow moss clings to the edges. It reminds me of the sticky seaweed that got all over the mouths of our caves back home.

It is cold today. I shut the window she leaves open for the cat, and then I lean against the counter and stare around at the walls of my house. This is a story she has told me. This house may be a physical presence in the world, but nothing else about it is true.

"Kayla?"

My heart picks up and I wrap my arms around my stomach. She appears just as quietly as I left, and she glances around the kitchen as if I might have done some damage.

"Kayla," she says. She uses that name a lot, even though I told her my true one. "You're shivering. Why are you out of bed?"

"I thought I heard something," I said. Then because it has been a while, I ask a familiar question. "Where did you put it?"

"Put what?" she asks, like always. I used to believe the innocence in her eyes but now I know it to be a farce.

"I want to go back to the ocean."

"To visit?"

I don't answer, so she doesn't speak any more than that. Just shakes her head and wraps her strong hand around my upper arm, leads me through to the living room. She nudges until I sit on the flowery couch and give in. I bow my head against the weight of the truth I have realised, and that is this:

It is time to get out.


End file.
